


Bookstores And Broken Hearts

by AlternativeUniverses (Lashtonisall)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All the time, Angst, Coffee, Friends to Lovers, Hurt, In passing:, It's all sadness, M/M, Professor!Cas, Romantic!Cas, Sad, mechanic!Dean, there is no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lashtonisall/pseuds/AlternativeUniverses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel woke up and rolled over, expecting to bump against a warm body, but instead only feeling the cold sheet-covered unoccupied side of his bed brush against his body. Suddenly, everything came back in a rush. Suddenly, Cas wished that he could just go back to sleep and not wake back up again. </p><p>First loves are always difficult. There's joy, and fear. Sacrifice, and pain. Castiel's first love isn't really any different. It just might focus a little more heavily on the fourth one. This is the story of how Cas and Dean shattered.</p><p>(aka I suck at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bookstores And Broken Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovelies!  
> So, this story is actually loosely based on how my ex-boyfriend and I broke up. So, I'm still not over it, and because I deal with my emotions through literature (because why not, am I right?), we get this mess. Yay!
> 
> This story is unbeta-ed, all mistakes are mine and only mine. 
> 
> No matter how much I'd like to, I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
> 
> **UPDATE:  
> Because of a lovely comment on an earlier version of this story, I've decided to update it and attempt to flesh out the ending a little more. Hopefully it reads a little better now. :)

Castiel woke up and rolled over, expecting to bump against a warm body, but instead only feeling the cold sheet-covered unoccupied side of his bed brush against his body. Suddenly, everything came back in a rush. Suddenly, Cas wished that he could just go back to sleep and not wake back up again.

***

He remembered the details in searing color, like it had only happened yesterday. The expression sounded so stupid as it formed in Castiel’s mind. Because it wasn’t yesterday, hell, it wasn’t even last week. It had been four pain-filled months since that fateful night. Really, in the grand scheme of things, four months wasn’t that much time, but these four months had felt like a lifetime.

The day had started out like any other. It had been Cas’s day off, so he had woken up lazily, not interested in doing much of anything, other than his boyfriend of nearly a year. Unfortunately, though, said boyfriend did not have the day off. He was probably at Singer Salvage already, getting his hands dirty while doing the job he loved. 

Dean had worked very hard to get where he was at twenty-five years old; manager and partial owner of the somewhat small mechanic business. After Dean had worked vigorously, day and night, to put himself through a difficult two years of technical college, his surrogate father, Bobby, had gifted him with a ten percent stake in the business. Dean would deny this if anyone ever asked, but he had been so touched by the gift that he had even shed a few tears as he pulled Bobby into a bear hug-like embrace.

With the knowledge that he had the entire day to himself, Cas reluctantly set out to prepare himself for the day ahead. He tore back the comforter and moved across the mattress, the other side still somewhat warm from Dean’s southern furnace body, and set his bare feet down on the hardwood floor. He immediately began shivering at the shock of cold that the hardwood flooring sent through his body. Why couldn’t their bedroom have shag carpeting in it, like every other cheap apartment in the city? Ew, Castiel thought at the mental rendering of that image. No, thank you, I’ll keep the cold floor. After sliding out of the comfort of his bed, Cas turned to settle the bedspread neatly back into its place, before turning to walk to his bathroom. He ran through his morning routine as always, brushing his teeth before running one hand through his bedhead, hoping to calm the mess that was his dark hair and help it appear somewhat artfully mussed. What Dean so lovingly referred to as “sex hair”, Cas not so adoringly dubbed “a pain in the ass”. After getting dressed, Castiel made his way to the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of coffee. Cas still remembered his first cup of coffee. Like every memory involving Dean, Castiel let himself sink into his recollection of the event. It was softened around the edges and somewhat faded, like a snapshot he had carefully tucked into a photo album, but frequently removed to run his fingers over the edges.

_It had been during Castiel’s junior year of college, still working toward his degree in English, and Dean had been fresh out of university, just beginning to settle into his routine at Singer Salvage. Dean and Cas had been strictly friends then, seemingly the only two people who didn’t realize they were “madly in love” with one another. Dean had stayed the night at Castiel’s new apartment. (I know what you’re thinking, but he slept on the couch. Get your mind out of the gutter.) After a long and hard day of helping the man move in, he hadn’t been willing to drive back to his own place. Well, that and Castiel hadn’t wanted to stay alone his first night in the new flat. When Cas had padded into the kitchen at eight, Dean was rummaging through the kitchen cupboards, already comfortable in his friend’s home._

_“Looking for something?” Cas questioned, raising one eyebrow at the Winchester. “Coffee.” Dean had groaned with all the energy and enthusiasm of a zombie. Guess who didn’t get a good night’s rest on the couch? Cas thought cheekily as he pulled a canister of Folgers out of one of the cabinets, something he kept on hand strictly for his brother Gabriel. He began to prepare a cup for Dean, when the Winchester suddenly stopped him._

_“Why’re you only making one cup?” Dean implored concernedly, worry lines creasing the middle of his forehead._

_“I don’t drink coffee.” Castiel had stated, nonchalantly. Apparently that had been the wrong answer, though, because as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Castiel heard an audible gasp from the other man._

_“What do you mean you don’t drink coffee, Cas? Have you ever even tried it?” Dean had been so affronted, Castiel had to hold himself back from busting out into laughter. He merely shrugged in response. Dean immediately bounded to the cupboard he had helped Cas unpack his mugs into the previous day, and grabbed the one he knew to be Cas’s favorite. It had been a Christmas present from Dean, and was white with a cartoon of some sort embossed on the side in black ink. He hadn’t understood the reference, which had prompted a long and low belly laugh from Dean, and anything that could make Dean laugh like that had Cas’s affection in an instant. Cas maybe should’ve taken that as a sign of his feelings for Dean._

_“Fill ‘er up.” Dean had stated, staring at Cas with an expression that he knew was meant to convey ‘just try to get out of this one’. Not prepared for an argument so early in the morning, Cas did as told and filled the mug with dark, caffeinated liquid. Dean had poured milk and sugar into it until it was a dark chocolaty brown, and egged Cas on until he finally drank the coffee. And thus was the beginning of a life long addiction to the substance._

After Cas had finished his second coffee of the morning, he had slipped on his favorite trench coat, long and tan and perfect (just like Dean), and a pair of shoes. He grabbed his keys from the kitchen island, where he had tiredly deposited them after arriving home the previous night, tired after a long day of teaching class after class of freshman the proper citation format, because apparently none of them remembered _anything_ from high school, and exited his flat, headed for his favorite place.

If there was any place that Cas enjoyed as much, or maybe even a little more, than a library, it was a Barnes and Noble bookstore. Cas could spend hours in the store, perusing the shelves. They carried everything from psychology to new young adult fiction, and Cas loved it all. He had been strolling leisurely between shelves, waiting for something to catch his eye, when he spotted it. _”Relationships For Dummies”_ Castiel laughed internally, thinking about the kick Dean would get out of the book if Cas brought it home. Gingerly, he reached out and picked up the book, flipping to the table of contents. Suddenly, he spotted it. A chapter entitled, _”How To Know If You’re In Love”_. Castiel’s heart picked up speed automatically at the mention of the word, thrumming away like a bullet train in his chest. 

Although they had been together for nearly a year, Cas and Dean had yet to utter the three little words to each other. It was unmarked territory for the both of them, and feelings were a touchy subject in the first place. Before he had realized what he was doing, Cas had flipped the book open to the chapter, and began to scan the section. He took about three minutes to read the text, and then closed the book and his eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply. That was it, then. Cas couldn’t say he hadn’t seen this coming, but this was the confirmation, almost like a sign had been dropped down in front of him.

Cas was in love with Dean.

***

After tossing and turning in bed for about ten minutes, Cas finally fell back into a tumultuous sleep, only to be startled back awake by his dream taking a sharp turn into a nightmare. He and Dean had been sat in a theatre, waiting to watch an orchestra performance. Dean had turned toward Cas, and immediately, the dark-haired man had startled. Dean’s eyes were bloodshot and tired, the shadows underneath them some dark mixture of black and purple. Dean opened his mouth to speak, and Cas felt his heart race in fear at the rasp and lilt of the voice, dark humor intertwined with fatigue. “You did this to me, Cas. I can’t deal with you. You and your problems. Why’d you have to ruin my life, Cas?” Dean had trailed off; still muttering phrases of various likenesses, and that was when Cas woke up.

Dream Dean was right, even if he was closer to something that wasn’t Dean at all. Castiel was so problematic. How could he expect anyone to be able to handle him? How could he expect anyone to love him? He was a strain on the people around him, draining them of their time and energy. Just like he had drained Dean.

***

Cas prepared the perfect reveal. Cooked a fancy meal of chicken breast and fettuccine alfredo, laid out a pristine white tablecloth, and even dragged out two silver candlesticks from a hallway closet. But Dean had returned home that night late and exhausted.

If you asked anyone but Cas, it wasn’t really Castiel’s fault. It was Mrs. Heely’s, with her three kids who couldn’t behave themselves if their lives depended on it, and Mr. Marshall’s old beater of a car, which Dean was surprised hadn’t caught on fire or something of the sort yet. But at the end of the day, all of these things had piled on top of each other, and Dean was at his breaking point. So how was he supposed to know that _Castiel_ of all people would be the drop of water that caused Dean’s cup to overflow?

It happened like this. Castiel, quietly. “Dinner is cold.” A sigh from Dean. A fluttering of lashes as eyelids snapped shut. Two fingers traveling up to his temple, massaging roughly. A long, drawn out sigh. A simultaneous, “I have to tell you something.” A “Me, first” countered with a soft “Okay”. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Dean says. What the words meant was, “I’m tired”. What the man meant was “I’m scared”. What all of it combined meant was the communal shattering of Castiel’s self. 

His lungs convulsed as he struggled to breath, to catch his breath, to push much needed oxygen through his body. He could’ve sworn he could feel his heart tear in two. His mind was abuzz, but only with “pain, hurt, break” and a chorus of guttural moans and screams that he didn’t have the breath to materialize. The next thing Castiel could notice outside of his own body’s war against itself was the slamming of a door. Castiel sank to his knees as the first tears began to roll down his cheeks, and he finally forced out a choked, “Please”, but it came too late. Dean was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

***

Even now, though months had passed since Dean left, Castiel couldn’t stop trying to figure out what he could’ve done differently. If he had just _tried_ a little harder, instead of breaking down like the crybaby he was. Instead of imploding, like some cracked mirror, just waiting for someone to look at him wrong so that he could finally have a valid excuse to shatter all over the floor.

But now, all he had were memories. 

Charlie had tried, so _hard_ to help Castiel through it, but after the first few weeks, Dean was his old self and Cas was just a sad shell of what he used to be. It was like Dean had taken the both of them with him when he walked out the door, and just discarded Castiel’s empty carcass like the bag of trash it was. 

So while Dean was out drinking and partying and having fun and getting laid, Castiel stayed holed up in his apartment at every hour of the day that wasn’t consumed with teaching his classes or grading his students’ work. It was like some sick and twisted form of self-torture; flop down onto the messy bed and try to fall asleep, only to be haunted by the same recurring nightmares of the one thing he used to live for. What the hell was Cas doing? He had no idea. It was like all of Dean’s once thinly veiled self loathing had caved in on him, crushing his mind into some warped, masochistic mess. He hated everything he was, but above everything else, he hated the fact that he was still in love with Dean. And of course, nothing could be better for Castiel’s new, seemingly pain craving, mind than the events of this morning.

Cas had been minding his own business, really. He’d decided to try to walk to the campus that rested a mere few blocks away instead of taking the subway. Maybe a little sun would do him some good. And then he had seen them, strolling side by side down the short path that wound its way through the park across from the campus. He felt his heart break all over again as he stared after them. A tall and slim brunette, hand intertwined with Dean’s.


End file.
